the rudest one of all

looking outward, never in

the first to cast a stone

pile compassion in a bin

then bring your good news home

the fairest soul, your wife must be

to deal with your disease

if only she had eyes to see

the way you cut us at the knees

usurping calm and laughter's gift

each day sharpen your knives

with which you carve a human rift

that hollows all our lives

in soft, sad, quiet fits of life

he just doesn't know what's right

with judgment his thoughts are always rife

from reason he's taken flight

the application of humanity

make peace, not conflict hereabouts

desist with this calamity

your endless waves of doubt

who are you to think your moods

should dominate our days

if only you weren't so fucking rude

there still could be a way

the only one

stretch across

these fettered beams

forget the lost 

people we have been

there's nothing there

beyond the panes

we could be anywhere

and yet remain the same

tortured lovers in restraint

we're coming nearer still 

the tones are ours to paint

we love the way we will

like colours streaming over walls

the further that we go

it's ours to rise, not ever fall

to take so deep and slow

each penetration complements

the scars we burn to share

we come alive in increments

like whispers on the air

one flesh, one voice

our eyes cast unto sun

we love this way, we have no choice

we are the only one

confluence

a torrent in the eyes to start

fading frames 'twixt here and there

a kiss can still ignite the heart

and render warmth on frozen air

these seasons just don't know their place

it keeps us at the wheel

we're stretching out to warmer space

in which to finally feel

something caught between winter and spring

a touch one fears to make

who knows just what some trust can bring

were we a simple chance to take

amid these tired phases here

pendulums of flesh and bone

can't cling to what is dear

eternal, distant, walk alone

but i can tell you, it is true

the warmth is drawing near

bleeding sun is come of blue

the confluence is here

if torrents move the lives we lead

as seasons mired in flux

at precipice one comes to need

a higher state of trust

can't help the words or euphemisms

they e'er mean something more

beyond the dross and pessimism

chaining dreamers to the floor

these times are neither here, nor there

no season formed in which to love

the chest not full, nor fully bare

it's not the state one e'er dreams of